Free Guilty Pleasures by Manuela Cardiga Page B

 
    Serge returned with a large jar and a chalky white cylinder of cheese. He cut generous slices of the cheese, and heaped glistening chunks of peach preserve on the roll.
    Lance took a tiny bite of the bread. The sensuous sweetness of the peaches exploded on his palate. He groaned in pleasure. Following Serge’s example, he bit into a concentric slice of chèvre. The odd salty tang of the cheese somehow enhanced the sweetness. Lance found himself licking at the salty drops of melted butter coating his lips. “It’s good . . .” he mumbled through a huge mouthful.
    When Millie arrived, they were sucking peach preserve off their fingers and sopping up the melted butter with the last crumbs from their rolls.
    “Want not, waste not, I always say.” Serge grabbed the last slice of cheese from under Lance’s nose.
    “Well, it’s nice to see you two having fun.” Millie smiled.
    Lance jumped guiltily, fingers in his mouth, and then caught her mischievous grin.  
    “Save a lick for me.” She giggled as he chewed and hastily swallowed the generous mouthful. Was there the slightest hint of flirtatiousness in her voice? Lance thought there might be a subtle hint at seduction in the lifting of one shoulder and a shy half flush as she slid her gaze down to Serge.
    She was wearing a long purple satin sheath that skimmed her curves and somehow made her seem taller. The deep colour whitened her skin and brought out red highlights in her hair. She had outlined her slanted eyes with kohl, and brushed a soft gloss onto her lips.
    “Millie, you ravishing piece. You look good enough to eat!” Serge exclaimed.
    She laughed. “Thank you! Coming from you, that is the ultimate compliment.” Millie turned, offering them a view of her generous bottom and a plunging backline exposing acres of perfect skin. “You don’t think it’s too much? It’s just that these girls will all be wearing haute couture  . . .”
    “Not at all,” Lance said. “And I love the purple on you. By the way, I wanted to ask, what on earth is Caligula’s Genitalia?”
    Serge howled and Millie giggled.
    “Well, the Archaeological Society funded this dig in Merida, and they found this monumental statute of Caligula in the nude,” Millie said.  
    “Minus his family jewels.” Serge grinned.
    “So five years later someone found this huge penis miles away.”
    “And no one knew who it belonged to . . . until a student made the connection and brought the old cock home.”
    “So the Archaeological Society wanted to celebrate that they’ve got the one complete Caligula statue . . . with lots of purple and laurel leaves,” Millie said.  
    “We called the event the Imperial Cock-up or Caligula’s Genitalia.” Serge finished with a malicious cackle. They clutched at each other, laughing, and Lance joined in.
    “Ahem!” Hendricks cleared his throat. “Miss Deafly, I wanted to go over the serving order with you, and how you want the waitresses to line up, behave, etcetera. If you can spare me a few minutes . . .” He glared at Serge and Lance with blatant disapproval.
    “Certainly, Hendricks. Get the waitresses together in the salon, and I’ll be there in a minute,” Millie replied.

    As Hendricks and his staff trooped in and out of the kitchen, Lance caught the sounds of feminine voices, excited laughter and squeaks of delight.
    Serge piled silver platters with monumental hamburgers, oozing alternating layers of rich meat, cheese, pâté, and grilled mushrooms, surrounded by crisply fried golden chips. They were quickly whisked away by Hendricks and his five waitresses in black Nehru minidresses and high heels.
    “I thought the wait staff was male?” Lance asked.
    “Usually, yes. The fashion victims don’t want men to see them pig out. Hendricks is the only exception . . . woe betide men should know they actually eat! So these are special hires,” Serge replied.
    Huge rounds of glistening pizza with delectably variegated